An Histrionic Afternoon
by Koi Fish
Summary: If atlases are the Hetalian dirty magazines, what does that make geographic documentaries...? USUK, with hints of a lemon on the horizon, but nothing explicit.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the History channel, or Bank of America. The iced tea, though, that's mine. Oh yeah, and I have no rights to Shakespeare or American patriotic songs.

A/N: If you're confused, watch America: the Story of Us. Actually, you know what? Just watch it anyway, because it's an awesome documentary. I would also like to say Woman in White will be updated soon, but the Wendigo chapter got epic without my permission and refuses to be posted in the incredibly weak form it is in now.

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In hindsight, Arthur should have realised the History channel sometimes did documentaries that involved quite a bit of geography. He probably should have seen the sponsor (Bank of America) and realised there was a good chance the program he'd sat down to watch would be about the United States. But hindsight and the present had nothing to do with each other in most cases.

In the present, Arthur had sat down with a glass of iced tea (herbal, something Kiku had asked him to try) and flipped to the History channel in hopes of finding something educational to watch. Knowing that it was Alfred's house in which he sat didn't bode well for the television programming, but he'd at least had a small glimmer of hope.

The program actually _was_ marginally interesting, even if it was about that stupid git. It was something about American expansionism, Manifest Destiny and all that. For almost a full ten minutes, Arthur thought he might have happened upon something decent to watch in his boredom, or at least something that was mind-numbingly shallow.

However, any program about expansionism would inevitably have to discuss the geographical aspect of the idea rather than just the fortitude and bravery and whatever else the pioneers had. Soon the widescreen television was displaying most of America's lands, from the edge of the Appalachians and branching out over the Rocky Mountains. Arthur fidgeted in his seat.

Any other nation (well, maybe not _any_, but Arthur suspected and hoped he was the only one seeing what he was seeing) would see an aesthetically pleasing landscape, but nothing more. Arthur, however, was experiencing a sort of double vision. Most of the East Coast still made Arthur nostalgic and certain landmarks would remind him inexplicably of Alfred's hair or smile or chubby arms as a child. The rest of the country belonged to an older America. It belonged to an Alfred that was no longer England's child.

So when Arthur watched the Great Plains in high definition, it was like his mind's eye was playing over his real vision. Arthur recalled (with no consent from himself) how Alfred's torso looked, still muscled, but leaner now, as it had been back in the days of fur trappers and wagon trails. The Rockies were harsh and snowy on the television, but in Arthur's eyes, they were Alfred's shoulders, broad and strong and golden with the perpetual tan he wore.

Arthur didn't notice that the tea had slipped from his grip, tipping precariously, until it fell completely, spilling cold liquid down his front. He cursed, standing, and made a slightly discomfited noise at how the temperature contrasted with his heated skin. _Damn it_, he thought, placing his now-empty glass in the sink, _this is _not_ normal._ He disregarded the fact that he was the personification of a nation and thus, an anomaly himself, and simply glowered at the television set.

But he didn't change the channel. Arthur sat back down on the couch and watched quietly as a bland narrator explained America's geography and the skills and mettle it took to tame such land. Even the narrator was playing dirty, Arthur thought. Barely recognizable innuendo floated through his mind, connecting with how Alfred had always been…enthusiastic in bed. Untamable indeed. It took considerable effort on Arthur's part to keep up with him some days, and he felt a rush of sympathy for the American pioneers.

There was a comment about how America produced so many resources from the land, and one in specific about how "England wanted American wood" that made Arthur literally laugh.

"Oh, yeah," he said softly, mocking the thought aloud. "That's _exactly_ what I want."

Sarcasm or not, Arthur's focus still slipped when the camera panned over the lower half of the Appalachians, the worn-down range smoothing into Georgia and finally the top edge of Florida. The screen changed to a scene of plantation workers in Alabama before Arthur could get a good glimpse of the region, but by that time his right hand had already begun fiddling with his trousers.

Arthur silently cursed at the television for being a _bloody fucking tease_, but his hand didn't move away and the channel remained intact. The narrator began speaking and Arthur muted him, preferring to watch America's landscape go by in silence than to associate Alfred's Mississippi River with so boring a sound. It was anything but boring to Arthur. Its image was laid over not by sight, but touch in this case. Arthur could almost feel Alfred's heartbeat thrumming against his lips as it did when Arthur pressed his mouth along Alfred's throat.

Arthur didn't know when that right hand had slipped into his now partially open trousers, but it must have, because when Alfred came barreling back into the house, he froze and realized just what he'd been doing.

There was an extended moment of silence as the two men stared at each other, the documentary on American history playing silently in the background. Mentally, Arthur was giving himself a firm talking-to. Using Alfred's dishware and refrigerator without asking was somewhat acceptable, but wanking off on his couch to the History channel was very much not acceptable. Especially not when it was _Alfred's_ geography that Arthur had been ogling like some kind of porno.

"Well," Alfred started somewhat awkwardly. "I'd ask if you missed me but…"

Arthur suppressed a groan and a jolt of his hand. Fuck. He _had_ to speak, didn't he? And he had to grin like the fool he was, and he had to…_be_. Dammit, it didn't matter what he was doing, it was Alfred, and Arthur was already halfway gone, so he was going to be turned on no matter what.

The younger man seemed to catch on to that, his grin widening into a smirk as he walked toward Arthur. The smaller of the two didn't move a muscle, but simply waited to see how Alfred would treat this before deciding whether to wallow in shame or demand a shag immediately. Alfred shoved him onto his back, removing Arthur's hand from his pants and straddling his hips. Arthur breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He'd really been hoping for the second option.

To Arthur's undying gratitude, Alfred leaned down to kiss him, not bothering to start out chastely. Arthur rose up against him, mouth already open for Alfred's tongue by the time it got there. He dimly registered the television going off, but was far too focused on Alfred to give it much thought. The younger blonde held Arthur immobile by one wrist, making Arthur stretch out slightly on the couch as Alfred lined up their bodies so that they fit perfectly together.

"Y'know, I can't blame ya," Alfred said, backing away to grin at Arthur, one hand absently working at the buttons of his shirt. "I mean, who could resist _this_ fruited plain?" He made a lewd gesture toward his crotch. Arthur rolled his eyes, but said nothing to the contrary as it was becoming increasingly evident that Alfred was having a difficult time keeping his hands off Arthur's 'sceptred isle' in turn.

"Whatever you say," he replied instead, latching a hand in Alfred's hair to pull him closer. "Now get those amber waves down here before I have to kick your fruity arse."

Alfred smiled goofily, but complied.

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Umm…don't watch the History channel if you're into Hetalia and people are around to hear you laugh. Reviews would be cool, but this is totally a work of about twenty minutes of effort, so it's no big deal.


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